It Happened One Night
by Midnight Caller
Summary: Some story weather makes Jack and Sam reevaluate their relationship.


It Happened One Night

By Eolivet and Midnight Caller

Disclaimer:  Nothing has changed since our last story. We still love Hank. And we think he looks mighty fine in a hat

Rated: R

Summary: Some stormy weather makes Jack & Sam reevaluate their relationship.  Takes place mid-season 1, post-RST ;)

*****

The rain pounded relentlessly against the glass, streaking down the surface in tiny rivers, collecting at the bottom of the sill until it overflowed and spilled onto the pavement a few stories below.

Jack observed the unrelenting storm as it assaulted his window, drowning out the old movie playing through a field of static on the shoddy hotel television.  

Eventually, he sighed and sat down on the foot of the bed, reaching forward to turn up the volume on the TV.  Cary Grant's distinct accent filtered out through the inadequate speakers and Jack smiled, recognizing the movie.  

The phone suddenly rang, startling him, and he walked over to the nightstand.  

"Yeah?"

"Hey, it's me," said the familiar voice on the other end.

"Everything okay?" he asked, sitting down on the bed again, his eyes drifting back to the TV.  

"Yeah, just packing up for tomorrow.  What are you up to?"  

"Watching 'My Favorite Wife.'"  

There was dead silence on the other end.

"Sam?" he asked again when there was still no reply.  

"You're doing what?" She sounded somewhere between confused and slightly irritated.  

"Watching 'My Favorite Wife.'  You know, with Cary Grant and Irene Dunne.  Grant thinks his wife has died in an accident so he remarries another woman and--"

He stopped when he heard laughter on the other end.  

"Oh, a _movie_," she chuckled.  

"Yes..." he answered, as if it were obvious, and craned his neck around to watch the next scene unfold.  After another moment, he spoke. "Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You hungry?"

The trip to the diner was wet and cold, but inside was a warm, fluorescent respite from the storm outside.  

After they'd been seated and the waitress had taken their order, Sam turned her attention to the rain drumming against the thin windows to the right of their table. "Why does everyone think rain is romantic?"

Jack looked almost shocked at her question. "You don't think it is." His tone fell somewhere in between mild incredulity and a distinct lack of surprise.

She started to nod, but was cut off by the look on his face, as a smile slowly formed across hers. "Of course you would. It's always raining in those classic movies. But you forget, rain is so much prettier in black and white."

"Not all rain is romantic," he pointed out. "It can also signal something bad is about to happen."

"Depends on your definition of 'bad'," mused Sam, placing her elbows on the table, her head resting on her interlaced fingers. "'It was a dark and stormy night...'"

Jack sat back in the booth, just watching her. "I'm amazed someone with your namesake doesn't seem to like classic movies."

She straightened and leaned forward. "Rain's making your profiling skills a little rusty. The bigger surprise would be if someone with my namesake _liked classic movies." Her smile flattened into a half-smirk. "So tell me more about 'My Favorite Wife.'"_

Jack blinked and then smiled in mild amusement, as Sam noted how that simple expression took ten years off his face.  

"Well, after seven years missing after going on a shipwreck, Grant's beloved wife, played by Irene Dunne, is presumed dead, so he remarries this rather ... high-maintenance woman named... Bianca, I think.  Yeah."

"Bianca?" Sam asked, rather amused.

Jack licked his lips.  "Yes.  So they go to this resort for their honeymoon, but it happens to be the same place he took his wife for _their honeymoon."_

"Uh-oh," she interjected, obviously enjoying herself.  "Let me guess - the wife isn't really dead."

He raised an eyebrow.  "I think it's cheating to have you guess at the plot to a missing persons story."  

Samantha laughed lightly.

Jack smiled at her laughter and then continued, "She returns to civilization just in time to follow Grant and Bianca to the resort.  Eventually her husband sees her and can't believe his eyes."

"Does he tell Bianca?"

He raised an eyebrow again.  "The guy may have married two women but he's not stupid."  

She responded with her own eyebrow raise.  "Well what's Irene Dunne have to say about it?  What's her name, by the way?"

Jack leaned an elbow on the table, surprised by her interest in this.  "I just know the actors, sorry.  And not much at first.  He manages to sneak into her hotel room to try and explain what happened, and to tell her he still loves her."

"Why would he marry someone else if he still loved her?"

"I think she asks him that."

"And what's he say?"

He bit his lip, and then replied, "I don't remember."  

Samantha narrowed her eyes in mock anger, and then sat back as the waitress brought their food and coffee.  

Jack took a nice, long sip of his drink, closing his eyes against the steam pouring out the top before setting the cup back down and releasing a satisfied sigh.  

"It's hard to find good coffee like that anymore," he remarked, mostly to himself.

"I make good coffee," she said softly, a slight teasing tone to her voice.    

He raised his head and met her eyes across the table, which suddenly didn't seem all that wide.  She held his gaze for a moment longer before breaking it off to stir some cream into her mug.  

He was still staring at her when he re-crossed his legs at the ankle, brushing against her legs in the process.  Her eyes shot up at the contact, and he mumbled an apology, looking down at his hands.

Samantha took a bite of her egg salad and watched as Jack cut a piece of chicken and dipped it in some sauce.  As he chewed, he gazed back out at the rain, looking rather lost in his own thoughts.  She let him drift for a moment, and took the opportunity to eat a few more mouthfuls of food.      

When she looked back up, she saw his eyes wandering around the diner, looking anywhere but at her.  

"Jack."  

He brought his eyes back to hers, and she suddenly forgot why she had called his name.  She opened and closed her mouth several times before any words came out. 

"So what happens?"  He looked confused, so she added, "In the movie... what happens?"

"Oh."  He took another sip of coffee.  "Well as it turns out, his old wife isn't a complete innocent in all this."       

"I could have told you that based purely from a statistical standpoint," she interrupted.    

He pretended to ignore her.  "It seems Dunne spent her seven missing years on a deserted island... only... it wasn't so deserted."  

Samantha couldn't stop the grin.  "She had her own Bianca, so to speak."  

Nodding his head and smiling, Jack replied, "Randolph Scott, as a matter of fact."

"Ah, and ... Randolph Scott is not a high-maintenance woman, I take it."  

"No, not exactly."  

"Wow, this is pretty risqué for ... what... 1940?"  

"Something like that."  He took another sip.

"So?"

He smirked.  "So, what?"

She dropped her head to the side in exasperation.  "What happens?"

He crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward.  "I'm not going to tell you."  

Her head shot up, her eyes searching his for a hint of some kind of indication he might be kidding, but all she found was a fixed, if not entirely serious, resolution to keep his secret. Her lips turned up and she met his stare with equal determination. "Fine. I have ways of making you talk..." she teased, softly.

His featured tensed as her foot accidentally brushed against his leg, meandering underneath one pant cuff, and gingerly moved against his sock. A small burst of air accented with the hint of male voice rumbled against her ears.

A flash of mischief tinged those brown eyes before she removed her foot and went back to calmly nibbling on her sandwich. 

Less than a minute later, she nearly choked on her next bite, as his foot had not only found the leg of her jeans, but was proceeding to push the cuff upwards. The material glided against her thin sock, but she felt the sensation of his foot through to her skin. Her glance slipped briefly, but she managed to hold his look.

When she felt his foot return to his side of the table, she exhaled quietly. "Looks like we're going to need the walls of Jericho."

He looked at her, amusedly. "Oh, so you do know some classic movies."

"Well it's Clark Gable. I'm jaded, not stupid." She barely looked at the waitress who cleared her forgotten plate. "Handsome, slightly rugged, acerbic and quick to temper man completely undone by a woman who's his equal in every way but what society deems proper."

Now it was his turn to offer a smirk. "Isn't that the plot of every Clark Gable movie ever made?" He tried to nod to the waitress who had placed the check between them, but his gaze refused to leave the dancing eyes of the woman across the table.

Her smile broadened. "At least he has the good sense not to take on more than one woman at a time, unlike your Mr. Grant, who probably moves to Utah and makes regular appearances on the talk show circuit." 

They rose from the table in tandem, as he threw a bill down on the table to cover both their meals. The waitress was also rewarded with a more than generous tip simply because continuing this conversation had become more important than getting the proper change.

"I'm still not going to tell you how the movie ends," Jack informed her, as he pushed open the door of the diner and immediately stepped back when a battery of raindrops attacked him.

Sam ran out ahead of him, oblivious to the weather. "It's so romantic," she cooed, mockingly, spreading her arms out like countless heroines before her who were caught in a similar predicament. "Ruining your hair, soaking your clothes, catching hypothermia." She stopped, mid-rant, when she could feel his eyes studying her. "What?" she asked, a little more softly than before.

He held her stare for another moment, and then looked down to open his umbrella before stepping out beyond the awning of the diner.  The rain immediately bombarded the thin, vinyl shelter as he made his way over to Sam.  

She looked far too attractive than anyone should after being drenched in a storm, but he tried not to notice that as he stood by her side, shifting the umbrella to cover her as well.           

She stepped closer to him, their bodies just barely touching.  A low, distinct rumble echoed in the distance as they both noticed a marked difference in the electricity around them.  A curious look in her eyes caught him off-guard, and he swallowed.  

"It's freezing out here," his voice rasped.  

Suddenly he felt her hands under his coat, running lightly over his sides, and his muscles tightened involuntarily. 

With his free hand, he reached down and gently trailed the back of his hand across the hollow of her neck and along her collarbone, and then turned his hand over, allowing his fingers to graze the skin beneath her ear.  She shivered from the touch, her eyes slipping shut, and her hands gripped his shirt with more force.  

After a moment, he slowly lowered his head, replacing his hand with his mouth, teasing her skin with his breath.  He felt her pulse increase beneath his lips, and when he tasted her, lightly pressing his tongue to her throat, she hissed and squeezed his shirt in her hands, pulling him against her.              

He worked his way up the side of her neck, smiling internally as he felt her pulse became more rapid with each movement.  He reached the bottom of her chin and kissed it lightly, before brushing his lips over each corner of her mouth.  

His mouth poised over hers, soaking in the moist heat radiating from her wet lips.

"What is it?" Her voiceless breath settled in a kiss of hot fog against his face.

Rain spattered against the flimsy umbrella, pounding in his ears like a heartbeat. His eyes open, he barely increased the distance between them. Still, it was enough for her eyelids to flutter as she watched him watch her.

His free hand swept across his features, trying to wake himself up. "This isn't a movie, Sam," he told her, gently. "No passionate embrace, no music crescendo..."

"No happy ending," she finished, water running down her face.

He could not bring himself to affirm her statement, and instead studying the little puddles** springing up along the sidewalk with downcast eyes.**

Nodding, she bit her lip, then released herself from his arms and stepped out from under the umbrella, tilting her chin upward for a second before lowering her head back so they were face to face, even a few feet away.

Their eyes searched each other for an explanation.

"It's not romantic," she said finally. "People get wet and catch hypothermia and there's no swelling music or passionate embrace that can ever prevent that." She began steadily walking back toward him, slipping beneath the shelter of the umbrella again.

Jack could only watch as she took hold of the umbrella, yielding control without much thought. Before he fully realized what was happening, she reached up and pushed the catch in so the taut spine of the umbrella went limp, bending in the middle so it almost collapsed around their heads. She pulled the mechanism downward, the umbrella imploding on itself, and let it drop to the ground.

Water fell upon him freely now, drenching his clothes, matting down his heavy hair and running harmlessly off his questioning eyes in large drops.

Stifling a shiver, she returned her arms to their place under his jacket. "No, it's not a movie. That's what makes it reality." Her eyes closed against the rain, and she pressed her lips to his as if somehow there was a music crescendo to underscore this passionate embrace.

When he kissed her back, blood thudded in his ears, a rhythmic accompaniment to the warm, erotic sensation of their joined mouths, of her slippery lips sliding against his, of the rain plastering everything against their skin including their hands against each other, pulling and grabbing, needing and wanting.  

One of her hands spread wide across his lower back, her fingertips inching down slightly into the top of his pants.  Her other hand gripped the back of his neck, grazing her nails along his skin, pulling his head closer as the kiss deepened.  

He cradled her head in his hands, rubbing his thumb against her cheek before moving one hand through her long, wet strands.  

Pulling his head back slightly, he kept her close as he found her eyes.    

"Still don't think rain is romantic?" he breathed, and she smiled against his mouth as he placed a light kiss on her lips.      

When he moved a hand down her back, he felt her shiver, and saw her lips quiver as well, and suddenly realized how cold he was.  He let his arm drop and brushed their hands together.  She wrapped her fingers around his and squeezed lightly.  

"You were right..." she whispered, running the fingers of her free hand over his swollen lips.  "It is freezing out here,"  she concluded, a smirk crossing her features.  He responded by narrowing his eyes, but then surprised her with another brief kiss.  

She stepped back, pulling on his hand, and for a moment, he considered picking up his umbrella, even though he was already drenched.  When she yanked on his arm, he decided against it, and then took two large strides to catch up with her.  

The rain continued to pelt at their clothes and hair and skin as they walked the short distance back to the hotel, but his thumb rubbed against her hand, and her eyes flashed him a message in return, and somehow the trip seemed less wet and cold.    

As they approached one of the many hotel back doors, he fumbled in his coat pocket for the electronic key that would allow them access to a haven from this weather. His hands practically shaking with a mixture of chills and nervous excitement, the door finally accepted their plastic offering, disengaging its lock with a subtle click.

He pulled open the door, ushering her in before it swung back to its locked position behind them. The nerves of her skin relaxed, taking in this warmer environment, though he still enclosed an arm around her shoulder as the two of them made squeaky tracks across the hallway floor. When the surface turned to carpet, the texture at least muffled their leaking shoes.

Her head nestled under his chin as they continued to pass many doors until they stopped at one that was familiar. She stood aside as he again produced the key, which gave them the green light to enter.

Their eyes connected. One hand leaned against the door. Before she could locate the words to reply, he spoke. "Thought you'd want to see how the movie ends."

She stepped away from him and leaned against the doorframe, tilting her chin upward, challenging him.  "I thought you weren't going to tell me."  

He met her challenge by also raising his head, looking down at her.  "Well technically I was going to let the TV tell you..."

"And if it's over by now...?" she asked, stepping closer, pressing her crossed arms against his.  

With an impossibly straight face, he replied, "It's TBS.  It'll repeat at least three times in a row."  

She smiled, stepping into the room.  When the door clicked behind her, she turned around to face him.  He leaned his back against the door and returned the key card to his pocket, his eyes unwavering in their gaze.  The room was so quiet she swore she could hear him breathing, and her shoes made a quiet crunching sound on the carpet when she stepped forward.  

"I'm glad our flight isn't until three tomorrow," she said, her voice low.  

He smirked but didn't move.  "Oh?"

"Yeah," she replied seductively, waggling her eyebrows.  With another step she was close enough to press against him, slipping her arms under his coat.  She brought her lips within inches of his and breathed, "Because it's going to take a while for our clothes to dry."  She punctuated her sentence by suddenly squeezing his sides, tickling him.  

He jerked at the touch and grabbed her hands, pleading a desperate "Sam!" as she tried to tickle him again.  Finally, he caught her wrists and pinned her arms behind her back, bringing the front of their bodies together.  Her determination was met with amusement as he started to push her backward until the back of her legs hit the bed.  

He released her arms in time for her to land safely, and then he crawled on top of her, settling on his elbows.  Watching her for a moment, he suddenly smiled, and then tipped his head forward to kiss her.  

The contact quickly intensified and he shrugged off his coat, flinging it to the floor somewhere behind him.  He unzipped her jacket and began to tug at the damp shirt that was plastered to her upper body.  Her hands wandered down to his waist and pulled on his shirt until he finally had to release her lips long enough to peel the cloth from his skin and yank it over his head.  Before he could settle back down onto her, she sat up and discarded her coat and shirt, both landing in a wet heap in the corner of the room.      

Sitting back on his heels, he regarded her for a moment, letting his eyes wander over her form.  He leaned forward, pushing her back down onto the bed, and they both gasped at the skin-on-skin sensation as their upper bodies rubbed together, the rough hair on his chest bristling against the smoothness of her torso.  

His mouth explored the tender flesh of her neck and ear, and when he took her lobe between his teeth, she inhaled sharply and dug her nails into his back, eliciting a moan from him that reverberated across the ear he was teasing.  

He ran his hand down one of her arms, causing her to shiver slightly, and then intertwined their fingers.  He kissed her slowly, capturing her lips and holding the contact for several seconds until letting go.  Between kisses he whispered against her mouth, "God, I want you..."  and made sure he caught her eyes before joining their lips together again.  

Nails scraped against his lower back as she ran her fingers around the top of his pants until she reached his buckle, and he shifted to the side to allow her better access.  Still holding one of her hands, he took the opportunity to undo the top of her jeans, and then ran a warm hand over her stomach, hoping to calm any anxiety she may have had.     

She finished with his buckle and then slid her hand over his as he moved it across her belly.  Keeping his gaze on her, he slowly slid his hand lower, watching as her eyes slipped shut and her head fell back, and a low, quiet moan in the form of his name escaped from her lips.          

He lowered his head and whispered against her ear, but she suddenly turned her head and kissed him forcefully. 

Their mouths fused, lips caressing each other as the fingers of his other hand roamed through the length of her hair. 

"This...how the...movie ends?" she managed, in between kisses, her breath hitching as she tried to form a sentence, even as his hand continued its ministrations.

"Not a movie," he mumbled, barely coherent, sliding his other hand down to her waist, fingers gripping the fabric of her jeans.

He was kissing her almost compulsively, and she broke away for a moment, turning on her side to face him as she tried to slow her breathing. "Yourmovie..." she murmured, words slurring in the torrent of lust that threatened to render her speechless at any moment.

For a moment, he looked at her blankly, the thought eluding him as a sea of words and images tumbled through his head. Suddenly, his eyes lit up, coherent thought returning. "Oh, the movie...he, uh, goes back to...Irene Dunne..."

Despite everything that happened?" she wondered, her breathing slowing. Her hand found its way onto the top of his head, her fingers combing through his wet hair.

"Yeah..." He leaned forward and kissed her.

A smile brightened her face as she kissed him back. "Good ending," she remarked against his mouth.

Further discussion was ended by his lips against hers in a flurry of short, sipping kisses, as he peeled off the heavy, wet jeans clinging to her legs with some amount of effort. After a little maneuvering, he was relieved of his similarly drenched clothes as well.

Their soaked, chilled skin quickly heated -- cold on cold somehow generating warmth as their legs rubbed together, kissing more passionately** as their hands rediscovered each other. As he stared down at her in the instant before her speech might be reduced to a series of wordless exclamations, she whispered, "Greatest physical exercise?"**

He paused, his brain struggling to sort out what was happening, and he blinked.  "What?" he huffed, trying to steady his breathing.  

She brushed their lips together.  "Cary Grant said that about making love," she breathed, rewarding him with another light kiss.  

He looked dumbfounded; his brow wrinkled, his eyes narrow as he attempted to process what she was saying through a dense cloud of arousal.  

"I read it in a--"  Her next words caught in her throat as he moved against her, and a whimper of pleasure replaced the remainder of her sentence.  

"Shhhh..." he whispered, gently running a hand through her hair as he moved again.  

He watched her lips meet and then separate several times in an attempt to form words, but all that emerged were a few quiet gasps and one rapid exhale that could have been his name.  

Brushing a few damp strands from her closed eyes, he kissed her softly, his quiet assurance of "It's okay" quickly absorbed by the collective heat of their mouths.     

She gripped the sheets tightly in her hands before abandoning them for his back, feeling the cadence of his muscles constricting and then relaxing beneath her fingers.  The cool dampness left on his skin by the storm was displaced by beads of perspiration, increasing as labored breaths escaped his mouth in fleeting, wordless grunts.

Sliding up from his back, her fingers tightened possessively in his hair, desperate to grasp at something tangible as the movements of their bodies became wild and frenetic, instinctual, raw.  He slid a hand between the bed and her lower back, pulling her against him with more force, and yet at the same time she found the gesture to be strangely comforting, as if he were protectively cradling her in this most intimate of moments.  

The heat started somewhere deep in her abdomen, an unmistakably fierce, fiery energy that radiated out to her limbs, tightening her muscles until she felt almost paralyzed by the sensation. Somehow, she still managed to grip his hair, her one last bond to the reality that seemed to be slipping away with each passing second.  One of her hands returned to his back and she felt the same tension there, his muscles taut, nearly shaking from exertion and the anticipation of their impending release.  

A tremendous warmth suddenly overpowered her, shooting like lightning through her veins, and her whole body trembled and shook as she also tried to process the feel of him reacting in much the same way, so close to her, so close.  Somewhere she heard her name, and tried to call his, but wasn't sure if she succeeded or if she just willed the word to leave her throat.  

The heat that had so thoroughly ravished her began to subside, but its effects were residual, pulsing through her, making her feel as if her entire body was glowing with some unnamable energy.  Then came the comforting weight of him, covering her, the faint trace of his voice in her ear, whispering... her name, God's name, and a few inarticulate mumbles that still managed to soothe her back into reality.  

Her eyes blinked open, rational thought weaving itself back into her conscious mind. She was wrapped in his arms and he was holding her so tightly, so tightly and so tenderly, their breath joining even as their bodies were not. Again, she blinked and her teeth found her bottom lip, a combination of pressure and resolution reigning in what was trying to escape her.

A small shift in their position found her staring at his face, the image melting as it softened and blurred.

His hand quickly moved to the side of her face, and a hint of worry furrowed his brows. Still, he kept his silence, content to comfort her through a touch, a look, rather than exhausting his entire vocabulary.

Her voice was a little more cooperative. "I--" Tension flared in her eyes, her cheeks, but she struggled to keep her expression in place. "I didn't think we'd--" She tried again. "I didn't think I'd ever--" Surrendering, she closed her eyelids and gave herself over to the emotion that distorted her features.

"Sam." One word may as well have been three. "Sam," he reaffirmed, holding her as her shoulders shook silently.

"Is this-- how the-- movie ends?" she spoke into the pillow, in between gasps of air.

He was confused for a moment. "I already--" he began. His mouth closed abruptly, his eyes shutting against the meaning of her words. "I don't know," he confessed, honestly. Stroking her hair, he repeated, "I don't know."

For some reason, his answer seemed to calm her. Her shaking subsided, and he heard her draw in a generous breath of air, releasing the final remnants of feeling that had suddenly overtaken her. 

She lifted her head and looked at him through red-rimmed eyes. What she saw traveled through her cheeks, forming a beaming smile. Then she touched her mouth to his, lips parting to communicate what three or more words could not.    


The rain pounded relentlessly against the glass, streaking down the surface in tiny rivers, collecting at the bottom of the sill until it overflowed and spilled onto the asphalt several feet below.

Sam observed the unrelenting storm as it assaulted her window, drowning out the voices echoing in the small space around her.  

Eventually, she sighed and shifted her legs, reaching forward to shove the dull flight magazine back into its pocket.  One particular voice filtered out through the cacophony and she smiled, recognizing it immediately.  

"Sam?"  She turned her head and found his eyes, wide and attentive.  When she still didn't answer he leaned closer.  "You okay?" 

Resisting the urge to trail her hand over the familiar skin of his cheek, she instead brushed her fingers over his, eventually wrapping them around each other.  

"Yeah..." she said quietly, as if it were meant only for his ears.   

The worry in his eyes began to fade, the hint of a memory from the previous night flashing across the hazel swirls.  She bit her lip to hide the smile that formed upon her own recollection of those events, but before his smirk could disarm her tenuous defense, the cabin lurched forward, forcing her to break eye contact.  

Their fingers disengaged quickly out of habit, a response that had become automatic whenever their small, pretend world was suddenly tossed out into the raw, unforgiving open.  

When their ride evened out, she glanced back up, only to find his eyes closed and his head resting against the back of his seat.  With a small degree of disappointment, she turned back to the window, watching the rain streaks go from vertical to horizontal as their ride sped faster and faster across the tarmac.  

Just as she closed her eyes, she felt the hint of a warm hand pressed against her upper thigh, one finger gently grazing the material of her skirt.  Her pulse raced slightly at the secrecy of the intimate gesture, and she smiled, shutting her eyes before leaning her head against the back of the seat.  Perhaps it was time to reconsider her opinion of rain.

The End (fin.)


End file.
